


The Blooming Trees of Lindon

by AfricanDaisy



Series: The Iathrim Chronicles [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Child Loss, F/M, Lindon (Tolkien), Miscarriage, Second Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24162073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/pseuds/AfricanDaisy
Summary: On a warm spring day when the jacaranda trees are in bloom and the sky is blue and cloudless, Oropher would like nothing better than to be with the woman he loves. Unfortunately, duty calls.
Relationships: Oropher (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Iathrim Chronicles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/25743
Kudos: 14





	The Blooming Trees of Lindon

**Author's Note:**

> This story deals with child loss so please read with caution if this is likely to affect you.

“Stay with me today.”

The words breached Oropher’s sleepy haze. He rolled over to find himself looking into eyes that made him think of a cloudless summer sky. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

Oropher swept the covers aside and shifted down the bed a little. “I can’t.” He lay his head beneath his wife’s breasts and traced a pattern on her rounded stomach. “I wish I could.”

“Tell the King that someone else must advise him today,” Felith murmured, running her fingers through the dark hair that spilled down Oropher’s back. “Dress your brother in your clothing. Have him pretend to be you.”

How silly and tempting. There was nowhere Oropher would rather be than abed all day with his beautiful wife. She had always been beautiful. He was as taken by her beauty now after a thousand years of marriage as he had been in their youth in Doriath, when protocol had stopped them being together. But now, in the seventh month of carrying their child, Felith was stunning. Glorious. As radiant as the sun, Oropher thought, though he kept the words hidden inside because he knew that they would sound foolish said aloud.

“Pretend to break something. Really break something!” Felith suggested, sounding inspired.

“ _Really_ break something,” Oropher repeated sardonically.

“Nothing vital,” Felith clarified. “Just a toe. You don’t need all of those. And you will be perfectly healed by the time our daughter comes to meet us.”

“Our son,” Oropher said under his breath.

“Daughter,” Felith whispered mischievously.

Propping himself on his elbows, Oropher gave his wife a thoughtful look. “Do you know for certain?”

“Nothing more than a feeling,” Felith admitted. “Which would make you happiest?”

“One would make me as happy as the other. Though, in time, I would like both.” Oropher hesitated, and then added, “If you would too.”

Felith smiled and kissed her beloved. “Very much.”

They took breakfast together outside under the plum blossom tree, Felith’s hand resting protectively on her stomach and every so often gently stroking it through the light chiffon of her blue and silver gown. She told Oropher how she planned to visit the market and buy her favourite apple pastries – yes, she knew that they could just as easily have the household staff pick them up or even have the pastries delivered, but she liked the sights and smells of the city, and she wasn’t so far gone in her pregnancy that she couldn’t walk about on her own two feet, thank you very much – and she would walk back through the park to see the jacarandas in bloom. Hearing her speak made Oropher give fleeting but serious consideration to somehow wriggling out of serving the King that day. He truly couldn’t think of a better way to spend his day than with the elleth he loved.

But, they both knew that it was not to be. When breakfast was over and Oropher could put it off no longer, he left for the palace where he served Ereinion Gil-galad as a chief advisor and Lord of Harlindon. His older cousin Celeborn had held that title when the High King of the Noldor had offered their people sanctuary after the Third Kinslaying and the War of Wrath. When Celeborn had left with Galadriel to settle in Eregion, the title had passed to his nephew Amdír. He, too, had later left with his statuesque wife Celephindis and the majority of the Sindar to rule the golden woodland realm of Lórien. Now Oropher and Felith were Lord and Lady of Harlindon, hanging on there because…well, sometimes Oropher didn’t even know why. Loyalty, he supposed. Gratitude, because Gil-galad had given them everything when they’d had nothing left. An unwillingness to uproot his people and his family only to lead them into the unknown. History suggested that his time would come one day, but that day was not now.

The council meeting which took place at the heart of the High King’s palace, with all his lords and councillors in attendance, was a long and tedious thing. The longer it lasted, the more Oropher wished to be elsewhere. Most often it was his brother, Lord Vehiron, who needed an older-brotherly hand touching his leg under the table to keep his attention where it needed to be. Today Oropher couldn’t help but shift restlessly, his gaze drifting often to the high windows that gave a view across the city with all its green parks and the Gulf of Lhûn sparkling in the sunlight.

Talk turned from an old road in need of repair to a nest of bees that would have to be moved because it was in the middle of the market, and already there had been complaints of elflings being stung. Oropher moved slightly, tugging at the collar of his gold-trimmed tunic. He felt a nudge in the ribs from his little brother, which was more irritating than helpful. He breathed out, and tried to disguise his restiveness by unnecessarily tidying a stack of papers. Out of nowhere, his hands shook, sending the top few pages flying.

“My lord Oropher,” Gil-galad said mildly into the startled silence that followed Oropher’s lapse of composure. “Are you quite well?”

_No_ , Oropher wanted to say. No, he wasn’t well. Something was wrong. Something had sent fear roiling through him like dark tendrils of smoke rising from a fire. Something had happened. Or it was happening right then. But with concern radiating from his brother, and their best friend and heart-brother Lord Herdir looking at him with a troubled gaze, with the eyes of the High King himself and all the Noldorin lords fixed on him, Oropher just took a steadying breath and told himself that something was nothing.

“I apologise, Your Majesty,” he said.

“Perhaps one of the marketplace bees has found its way inside Lord Oropher’s shirt.”

That was from Lord Naltanáro, Oropher’s Noldorin counterpart on the council. Naltanáro was a powerful ellon, the sort of powerful that made everyone around the table laugh at his stupid quip out of fear or obligation. Well, not quite everyone. Vehiron’s concern changed to anger though he settled for a glare instead of an impulsive comment, while Herdir just expressed his boredom for Lord Naltanáro by pointedly perusing the report from Lindon’s beekeeper as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. The High King himself reacted not at all, while his grey-eyed herald Lord Elrond just met Oropher’s gaze across the table and gave him a quietly respectful nod.

The meeting resumed and Oropher did his best to sit quietly and play his role when he was required to play it though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should be somewhere else. As he tried his best to focus, the chamber doors opened to admit a young elleth in Gil-galad’s blue and gold livery. She went quickly to the head of the great council table, offering her obeisance before passing a scroll to Gil-galad. The High King unrolled it, but Oropher watched his eyes and saw that he read it twice. Then, he wordlessly passed the scroll to Elrond. King and herald met each other’s gazes for a brief moment, and Elrond only read the scroll once before getting up and giving Gil-galad an abbreviated bow. He swept from the room then with not a backwards glance. The liveried messenger discreetly followed him.

“Please, continue,” Gil-galad said, nodding to the ellon whose report had been interrupted, though on his face was the sort of politely fixed expression that Oropher had come to recognise as the look that he wore when he was only half listening but didn’t wish to appear rude. Gil-galad nodded in thanks when the report was concluded but passed no further comments. “Perhaps an adjournment, my lords,” he said instead. “We shall reconvene one hour hence. Lord Oropher,” he added, as the ellyn around the table began to rise. “A moment of your time, please.”

Lord Naltanáro exchanged smirks with his friends and colleagues even if this time none of them were stupid enough to say anything. Vehiron and Herdir made to leave too, but Gil-galad bade them stay as the chamber doors closed. “I have received word from the healers,” he announced gravely. “There was an accident this morning in the park where the jacaranda trees are in bloom. It seems that a carriage driver took his team around a slower moving carriage ahead of him. In his patience, he failed to realise that a third carriage was approaching from the opposite direction. Evasive actions were required to avoid colliding and…”

Oropher shook his head slightly to try and dispel the sudden rushing in his ears. He took a step back from Gil-galad and was dimly aware of someone steadying him from behind with a hand on his back. Vehiron, probably. It didn’t matter. The words were blurring into one so that they didn’t make sense, but even so Oropher saw a picture in his head. Horses rearing, wheels skidding, the carriage sliding across the road towards beautiful jacaranda trees heavy with purple flowers being admired by people who had simply wanted to walk through the park. Sunlight flashing off golden hair as an elleth turned, blue eyes wide, arms going not up to protect her face but instead to shield her unborn child.

“Did you hear me?” Gil-galad asked softly. “Elrond has gone to attend to Lady Felith.”

“Yes,” Oropher replied, his voice as distant as his gaze.

“Gwador,” Herdir said then, giving his friend and sworn brother a gentle shake.

That brought Oropher back to himself with a sharp breath. Instinct finally took over and he swept a quick bow in the King’s direction before striding from the council chamber. He broke into a run as soon as he was through the doors, deftly weaving in and out of the servants and nobility who stared to see one of Ereinion Gil-galad’s own advisors and lords disturbing the peace and breaking countless rules of etiquette by running in the _palace_ of all places. Oropher didn’t care. He ran like his life depended on it. It did. Felith was his life. But all he could do when he reached the healing wing in a quiet part of the palace overlooking the gardens was wait, and wait, and wait for news.

Finally, Elrond came to him with kindness in his eyes but no smile on his face. “Oropher,” he began, putting a hand on the other elf’s shoulder and sitting with him. “Lady Felith survived the accident. She was badly injured but she has survived and she will recover though it will take time.”

“What happened to her?” Vehiron asked, for Oropher was silent. “How did…”

“The carriage that fell on its side skidded straight towards Felith and struck her, trapping her between its wheels,” Elrond replied. “The horses were spooked. In their panic, they fled, pulling the carriage – and Felith – along behind them.”

Oropher heard Vehiron whisper a curse, but he just leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “You said she survived.” He didn’t understand how anyone could survive that.

“She did. Barely.” Elrond paused, and his hand tightened on Oropher’s shoulder. “The child did not.”

“No. I expected not.” Oropher was surprised by how calm he sounded. He didn’t feel calm inside. He felt…nothing, he realised. Hollow. Numb. “I must see Felith,” he said suddenly, surging to his feet. He stepped towards the door only to stop then with his fingers curled around the handle. “What was it?”

“A daughter,” Elrond replied.

“Oh.” Staring at the door, Oropher still didn’t open it. His eyes lingered on a spiralling whorl in the wood. “May I see her?” _Her_. He had spent nearly seven months referring to the child as _it_ , or sometimes tentatively as _him_ because he had truly thought that it might be a boy.

“I would advise against it,” Elrond said softly.

Oropher looked up at the ceiling and willed away the tears that had come from nowhere to burn his eyes. He took a deep breath then and opened the door, needing to see Felith, to see for himself that she hadn’t left him even though his marriage bond told him that she yet clung to life. A healer in dove grey robes sitting at Felith’s bedside quietly retreated, and Oropher sank down into the empty chair. He slowly ran his eyes over his wife. She was deep in a healing sleep, her golden hair spread out around her on the pillow. A bruise had discoloured her temple, and on her left cheek there was a shallow cut, but her face gave no other clues as to what she had endured. Beneath the covers, Oropher saw the outline of bandages. He couldn’t take Felith’s hand, because her arm was broken and bound, so he just crossed his arms next to her on the bed and put his head down on them with a ragged sigh as the tears came.

“I lost the baby.”

A minute or an hour could have passed before Felith broke the silence. Time had ceased to mean anything. Oropher lifted his head and saw his wife staring listlessly at the ceiling. “It wasn’t your fault,” he whispered. He didn’t know what else to say. The words that he had chosen sounded futile to him. Selfishly, he knew a moment’s relief that Felith had already known that their child was gone, that the burden of telling her didn’t lie with him.

“I wanted her. I loved her.” A tear slipped from the corner of Felith’s eye and fell slowly down the side of her face, disappearing into her unbound hair. “I heard the healers talking. They say I am so damaged inside that I may not ever bear children.”

“I won’t leave you,” Oropher whispered. “I’m here. I love you.”

“The trees were so pretty,” Felith replied distantly. “Have you seen them?”

Oropher breathed in deeply and shook his head. “Not yet.” He could have seen them if he had stayed with Felith that morning. Guilt stabbed at him. He could have done something. He could have pushed her out of the way. They would have gone home together, shocked by the appalling judgement of the carriage driver, but their day, their lives, would have continued as normal and their daughter would have survived. Their daughter, their little girl, who Oropher had wanted just as much as Felith had.

“Her hair was golden,” Felith murmured. “I asked and the healers told me. I want to name her. She needs a name.”

“Then we shall name her,” Oropher agreed quietly.

Felith nodded and closed her eyes. “Rivaleth,” she breathed, as she slipped into a healing sleep.


End file.
